


Shhh, No One Will Know...

by ladyofdragons



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-21
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-05 08:59:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1092049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofdragons/pseuds/ladyofdragons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift and Wing visit the exploratorium in Crystal City. Drift ruminates a little too much and Wing decides to cheer him up in a Special Way. This is in no way influenced by Wing's public sex kink and temptation for rule breaking. Nope, not at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shhh, No One Will Know...

**Author's Note:**

> I give my fics the worst titles! This is purely self-indulgent so I did not bother with betaing it. (which means I'm self-indulgent AND lazy) Also, don't ask how MTMTE Drift is in Crystal City with a living Wing, my PWP porn does not know nor seem to really care overly much. :|a
> 
> JUST ENJOY HIS GLORIOUS THIGHS.

"I never used to see the stars."

Drift's admission echoed softly in the darkened room of Crystal City's exploratorium, an enormous holographic representation of the Lucent Nebula spread out before him, stretching both far above his head and well below the clear plastiglass railing of the observation deck.

"Didn't you travel though?" asked Wing as he approached, hands companionably sliding around Drift's middle.

"Yeah. But," a shrug of one red pauldron, "Once I left the gutters it wasn't important. And after Cybertron...it was just more resources, more hostiles, more space hazards to navigate."

Wing rested his chinplate on the other mech's shoulder, waiting patiently, fingers intertwining with Drift's over the mech's striped abdomen.

"What do you see now?" he prompted finally, giving in to a bit of impatience.

"Beauty," Drift said after a long moment, "Life. ...possibility?" 

"Mmm," Wing mused in soft approval. "We can't see the stars here in Crystal City. So we come to this place to be reminded: how immense the universe is, how vast its potential. And that though we are small in comparison, so too was it, once."

A nod of Drift's white helm, solemn with regret, a mourning of lost time not properly appreciated. The jet gave the back of that helm a nuzzle, sensing the cool ripple in Drift's disturbed EM field. "Possibilities, remember?" A kiss followed that nuzzle, the splay of the jet's fingers suddenly no longer chaste, ghosting along the upper edge of Drift's pelvic plate.

"Wing." The grounder gave a harsh whisper, as if there were other people in the empty room that might hear them.

"Yes?" It was more statement than a real question, affirming his intentions, mischief rippling playfully in Wing's voice. And maybe, just maybe, there was a dare in there.

"You're an awful tease."

"Not teasing."

The hot stroke of a tongue in the Great Sword's mounting channel made Drift stiffen; the rake of fingers up his inner thighs melting him with a shiver. "Really, we..."

"--are alone. There are more popular exhibits. And the Birthing of Planets holo symphony is in session so most people here are otherwise occupied."

The explanation carried Wing's mouth in a trek down Drift's back strut, hands drawing back over each ample hip to squeeze at the plush tires on the backs of those thighs. Another hot lick of Wing's glossa to the aftplate had Drift gasping, hips twitching back into the touch. The grounder made a noise, a mumble fighting with a moan, but regardless not a sound of dissent.

Wing took it as encouragement, mouth pressing hotly to the interface panel until it clicked aside, glossa seeking the delicate covering of the valve.

" _Wing..._ " It was a plea this time, to truly not be teasing, Drift's EM field edging into a sudden wild need.

"Just look at the stars, Drift." Wing murmured against the valve as it spiraled open, glossa circling the rim before probing in, seeking the first of many sensitive nodes. Drift's strong swordmech hands held tight to the rail as he pressed back, footplates scraping on the ground as Wing's knees edged them apart.

There was no way to stifle the heavy rev of his grounder engine, only the desperate hope that no one heard the rumbling echo move through the vast room. Air panted from his cooling system and through bit lipplates, the flicks and nips alternating with the forceful probing of the jet's tongue wearing Drift's control thin.

Wing shifted, kneeling fully, pressing his face flush to the panel to seek deeper nodes, mouth twitching in an almost-grin at the noise that forced its way passed Drift's defense. The jet's avid hands roamed over the joint of each hip, thumbs trailing under the edge of the aftplate, dipping into crevices, teasing down the thighs and under the heavy armor of each hip cuirass. He let a soft laugh ripple though, gusting air against the valve before probing deeply again.

Drift's white helm drooped, panting open-mouthed now, optics distant and obscured by a haze of pleasure. Something in his vid-field snapped to his attention though: the complex curling shapes and colors of Wing's erect spike, standing tall and unwilling--unable--to stay caged with the jet's senses so full of the taste and smell of Drift.

There was a garbled noise, a twisting of Drift's hips with need and indecision, but Wing was insistent, gripping each thigh tightly to his chassis and redoubling his efforts, driving Drift towards overload with only his dexterous mouth and hands. 

The grounder bit down around a loud groan as it finally took him, strong swordmech's hands denting the metal edge of the railing as the charge released in a great burst of lambent ecstasy. Wing's back struts locked, taking Drift's quivering weight as the grounder pushed onto his toeplates, body going taut as the overload wracked through him. The jet's grip was strong on those magnificent thighs, keeping his face pressed to Drift's pelvic plate as he rode out the overload, glossa tight against the valve's rim as a torrent of released charge jumped through him. The zinging cascade of electrons tingled through Wing's cortex, the second-hand euphoria dazzling him until his vid-feed went white.

They stayed locked that way for a few moments, a stifled whimper slipping from Drift when Wing finally moved, giving one last doting lick of his tongue before pulling away.

"...um..." Drift's thighs quivered again, feeling suddenly akin to energon jellies, and Wing pulled him down into an embrace, chassis to back, shapely legs folding like so much origami. 

"Don't have to go anywhere yet," the jet murmured into the intricate plates of Drift's back, the warmth of the other swordmech's valve leaving a smear of lubricant against Wing's lower belly.

"But..." Drift's forward slump, hands slack on the railing now, brought his own belly in contact with the jet's still turgid spike. "...what about you?"

"Got what I wanted."

"You, uh, can't just...walk out like this."

A delicate shrug of nacelles against Drift's shoulders, Wing's EM field a plush mix of blissed contentment and a quieter simmering want. It'd be just like Wing to put his own equipment away untouched, so focused he seemed to be on the pleasure of others. Well, Drift's having none of that. He knew how to make better use of his recovery time, wobbly or not.

There was a hiss from behind him, a swift intake as Drift's hand curled around the spike and gave it a squeeze. " _Drift..._ " the tightness in Wing's voice said the rest: be careful what you start. But oh, Drift was careful indeed, starting to move in strokes that were quite intentional, thumb rolling over the head each time. Hot air huffed against his back from Wing's vents, engine nacelles giving a soft purr.

They shouldn't be doing this any more than what came before it, but the way Wing's hips moved into the stroke of Drift's hands spoke of how concerned he was for it, his open mouth panting hotly against the small winglets on Drift's back.

"Drrrrift...!" The jet groaned out, trying to smother the words against the white plating, fingers hard on the tops of the grounder's thighs. And Drift grinned, feeling the dense building of charge tingle between his palm and the spike's nodes. He wanted this, to feel Wing overload same as the jet had done for him, to see the result of his efforts--

\--splattered across the clear plastiglass observation railing at any moment.

"I--Drift-- _Please!_ " The frantic edge to Wing's tone made sudden sense now, the realization that he was about to leave behind undeniable evidence of their clandestine coupling.

Drift did the only thing he could do, lift up and tip his hips to catch the head of that spike with his still warm valve. And Wing's response is the only thing his body would really allow, thrusting hard into that suddenly inviting heat, the hard ripple of charge and desperate grasp of the valve's calipers tripping him over the edge, the sharp intensity tearing a cry from his vocalizer as he overloaded, filling Drift with a hot gush of transfluid.

Their bodies shivered and quaked for a moment, united under a blanket of imaginary stars, blissfully alone until the sounds of others beyond the room filtered through. 

"...everyone all right in there?" came the voice in the hall, Wing's cry drawing unwanted attention. There was the hurried shuffle of bodies and soft curses in the mere seconds they had, the two arranging themselves more chastely on the floor in front of the rail. Just two lovers sitting quietly and romantically enjoying the view, yes?

Except Wing twitched as the still sensitive nodes of his spike tingled against the small of Drift's back where it was trapped.

"We're great, uh, just fine." Drift replied, letting Wing find his composure, curling back against the other mech in relaxed contentment that was not all feigned. 

"N-no worries," Wing managed, "just kibble conflict." He rubbed an optic in a way that would lead visitors to believe that story, but really it was a convenient way for the jet to hide his all too expressive face and the smirk that threatened. It was only half a lie anyway; Wing ducking his head to avoid the rear point of Drift's helm. He'll have to make amends for the other half later, perhaps volunteer to do a docent tour or at least mop these floors. 

For now though, it was perhaps a good time to move on before they drew too much attention, and there was a shimmer of renewed need in Drift's field that said home should be their next destination.


End file.
